Chasing a Capricorn

What does it mean if I can’t get Goldsmiths College out of my head? I constantly see myself walking up New Cross Road towards the library with earphones in my ears, looking forward to whatever I’m going to put down on paper. After that, I will gain a sense of relief. I can’t tell if it’s me dwelling in the past or the future here. It’s clear that things have to change in the future, but the centre of my mind is pretty fogged up.


I find it hard to be good to myself and at the same time keep other people happy, particularly if what keeps them exultant is what exhausts and drains me mentally. It’s quite conflicting if you think about it, especially if what you need is space and they don’t know what ‘space’ exactly means and for how long you need that so-called ‘space.’ In the past, I never had to explain it because I didn’t need to. It’s like no one ever suffered from the lack of space, so there was no reason for me to feel guilty about anything. However, it hurts when others gather a piece of that facial expression of mine. It’s like inflicting your misery on them without wanting to. But…they are there. They watch you.


There was a time when music and literature were the only beautiful things that I knew. I would borrow comfort from them and find out later that it was all me. When you absorb other people’s art, you basically filter it into something relevant to you. That’s why you won’t ever understand the artist, but most importantly, they inspired you with a warm, comforting touch. No one needs to know the details or the rest of the story anyway. The inspiration is already a form of understanding.

It’s ok not to be understood, even though you wish people could read your mind, see its landscapes. It saves you from wasting your breath on nothing. I’m not someone that takes the lead in a conversation anyway, even if it’s a story. But if you hand me a pen and paper, it’ll be different.

Is it ok to keep my mouth shut? That’s the only thing I know best unless you want me to share my soul that’s not on paper.


Anything else is killing me right now.

Why is how I feel not the right way to feel?

Why can’t I do what makes me feel better?

Please, can I keep my mouth shut?

What do you want me to do?


You can’t say I’m not trying. What’s easy for you doesn’t mean it’s easy for me.


People know me so little, which is ok. Everything is ok.

I remove all feelings of pressure by myself. Why am I getting tired of it? It has become a purpose in life, hasn’t it?

We all love the sunshine, but one does not love it the same way as the other. That’s because we don’t all love the same season. I like it when there is a great distance between the sun and the earth. Doesn’t it make your heart grow fonder? Doesn’t it set your mind on fire?


Not that I believe I will ever learn from what I write because I forget everything that I write, especially if it’s for therapeutic purposes. There is a sense of repetition every time I write a blog post. My initial plan was to write a short story every month. It didn’t quite work out, did it?

I finished a short story last New Year’s Eve. I had invested lots of time in it. But my latest short story, “Savasana,” never really saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but I know it will.

This year. The incompleteness of the story is perhaps my only failure from last year. Back at university, I wouldn’t have let it happen. One of my main drives was being unhappily smitten. The only way to alleviate the pain was to fictionalize it and tell myself it’s only a ride. The painful ride would make me feel so alive. Once I was over it, I would become stronger. This is how I’ve been growing stronger over the years.


I can’t think of a more literary path that I’ve walked if not at Goldsmiths. The current lack of depth and passion makes me forget things, i.e. who I am, what I’m here for, my little talents, etc.

Perhaps nothing exists inside of me. And I’m just making things up. But how can it be that only things we make up keep us alive? I guess it’s because we believe in it. We share our art to give meaning to our being. And I’ve never known anything else. I will continue to chase what I believe exists. And I don’t have to open my mouth for that, either.

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